Azkaban Redemption
by gwmclintock9
Summary: I want to talk to him. I want to try and talk some sense to him, tell him the way things are. But I can't. That kid's long gone and this old man is all that's left. Based on mathiasgranger's prompt.


A/N: This story is based off mathiasgranger's one-shot, which is included here. I did not write the first words that Gellert Grinewald said, but everything else is my take on how such as story would take place. I would like to thank him for starting this idea. I know I said i would start it roughly two years ago, but time, and grad school, took me away from it.

I do not own Harry Potter or Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. I would prefer to owning the latter to the former, for the record. (The quote in the summary is taken directly from the movie)

**I0I**

_Many people don't understand what happened, why it did, and why everything came to end the way it did. I experienced it myself, and honestly do not understand it completely. This is my attempt to clarify things and maybe shed some light on the wonders that my husband tried to accomplish. More importantly, this is the truth of what happened behind the doors of Azkaban. Where I met my husband, a light in a world of darkness._

_This is our story. Mine, my lover's, and our dear friend, Gil. What is gathered here, is a factual account of what happened. Harry has supplied most of it, and bless his soul, gave himself far too little credit for what he had done. Gil never documented much of anything, besides a few lines here or there. He did provide us with his memories before his passing. And tasked me with the truth._

**I0I**

I've made a lot of stupid mistakes in my life, and one in particular I made when I was 20 years old haunted me for more than seventy years. Prison teaches you a lot about yourself after all, but it seems the most important lessons I learned while behind bars, were taught to me by one man.

I could tell from the day he was brought here in 1998 that Harry Potter wasn't the usual type of new prisoner brought around to Azkaban prison. His eyes weren't filled with the fear that typical newbies were, rather his eyes held more than a bit of determination, and something not seen often inside the walls, hope.

His story was a lot like the one the rest of us would recite if asked, he had been innocent of the crimes he was convicted for. Killed his newlywed wife and friend when he found them in bed together, a crime of passion he said the judge had called it, of course if you asked Harry he would claim that passion or compassion were obviously foreign things to the magistrate.

He never really told us what he did for a living, but from the bits he did share we figured he was a banker of some sort, and he told us once that he worked with the goblins a lot.

At any rate the years passed as they did in Azkaban, Harry settled into the routine of prison life as each of us traded what little we could to make our own personal lives a little bit easier to bear. Of course, for Harry that was a relative term if I ever heard one.

Warden Cornelius Fudge had taken a rather active interest in Harry once he found out the truth of his checkered past. It was hard enough trying to scratch out an existence in Azkaban, but with the warden aware of a person individually their life tended to become complicated in one of two ways, either the beatings from the guards increased, or the beatings decreased.

For Harry, things seemed to complicate in both ways, or rather they did when he wasn't the perfect automaton to launder the Warden's dirty galleons.

Things really began to turn when a new batch of inmates came around fifteen years after Harry first made an appearance at the prison. One inmate in particular fit in nicely with our little group of prison inmates. Seeing as how the prison population of Azkaban was filled with both witches and wizards, seeing a witch amongst the group wasn't all that unusual.

However, the look on Harry's face when he first saw her should have been a hint that things were going to change drastically. Now, being a creature of habit I can freely admit I'm not a big fan of change and as a result I might have been a bit more cool to Hermione Granger back then than I should have been at the time. But, seeing genuine joy and unmitigated hope in my friend's eyes after seeing muted amounts of it for fifteen years sent me for a bit of a turn.

From there I think it best for the story to tell itself, but in case you were wondering my name, Gellert Grindelwald at your service, even now I can proudly claim that anything you might need, I'm your man.

**I0I**

Harry sat there, trying to reign in his emotions. He set up his Occlumency shields, fortifying them with his strongest thoughts.

The magistrate was reaming him a new one. And really all they had was circumstantial evidence. He looked over at his barrister, wondering why he had hired the guy in the first place. Barely a word had been said by him since Harry had refused the plea bargain.

"Isn't that convenient, Mister Potter," his name was spoken with more disdain than Professor Snape had even managed, "the revolver used to kill your wife and her lover was never found? That you threw yours into the Thames?"

"Since I am the one on trial, Barrister, and innocent of this crime, I find it highly inconvenient." Those were the last words Harry had spoken at his own trial.

This time, there was no Dumbledore there to save him. The smarmy bastard had been lucky enough to die at the hands of Voldemort. The prophecy had proven false, as both men had died by the others hands.

There was no dues ex machina to save the day. No all powerful method of destroying the man. Just two experienced wizards, battling it out to save them all. Both died, and everyone got to live.

"Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury," the prosecutor now faced them. It was the end of the line for Harry. The air was heavy, and Harry felt the defeat settle upon his shoulders as listened to the damnation echo through the room. "You all know the facts. We have the accused at the scene of the crime. We have foot prints, matched to the accused's boots. We have tire tracks. Bullets scattered on the ground with his finger prints on it. We even have a broken bottle of bourbon, with his finerprints on it as well. Most importantly, we have a beautiful young woman and her lover, lying in each others arms. Dead. Now there is no doubt, that Mr. Potter's wife and her lover had sinned. We all have sinned at one time in our lives or another. But did that mean they should pay with their lives? Was their sin so great that the sentence was death?"

He paused here and looked back at Harry. He stared at the man, knowing his sentence was eminent. "If this was a crime of passion, we could maybe understand. Maybe even condoned. But think about this. The revolver, a Muggle weapon, hold six rounds, not eight. That means that Mister Potter fired all six rounds into them. Three each. And he took the time to reload the weapon, and fire it twice more. One for each of them." Harry hung his head as he pictured the event happening again. But he knew who he was though. He knew what he was capable of, and murder, cold blooded, ruthless murder was not one of them.

"Mister Potter." Those were the next words he heard and registered. He looked up to the judge staring down at him. "I have never had a man in my court that is as cold or as ruthless as you. It chills me to look at a ruthless man such as yourself, and realize that there is nothing that can be done to save your soul." He stared at Harry in silence, and Harry just looked back, holding back his own tears. "But for what you did for us, the whole of humanity it seems, I can not find it in me to sentence you to death. Hence I only have one alternative." The glare intensified, and Harry strengthened his shields more, to hold back his fear, saddness and anger. "By the power invested in me, by the Wizards of the Greater Britain Empire, I hereby order you to two life sentences. Back to back." The eyes of the judge narrowed at him, attempting to glare into his soul. "One for each of your victims. So be it."

Harry didn't remember the walk from the court room or the placing of the portkey on his person. All he really remembered of that trial was the evil he had fought was still glaring at him as he left. Lady Justice, with her blind eyes, stared down at him, disappointed, ashamed. He swore years later that tears fell from her eyes as she watched him pass from her realm.  
**  
I0I**

Gil sat in the chair, watching the board talk amongst themselves. He knew what was going to happen, he had seen it happen a hundred times before, a three times for himself personally. It was the same thing every time to. On rare occasions, which could never be picked out, the ending changed. But really, they still took your life. That much didn't change.

Life sentence is what they give you; it certainly what they take.

He told them what he thought they wanted to hear, and now he was just waiting for it. The ominous stamping sound reverberated through the room as Gil was led out. He knew it was going to happen. Now another stack of papers with 'DENIED' stamped across it were placed in his file.

When he got to the yard, he let his eyes gaze over the emptiness before him. It was dreary and dully, the cloudy sky adding a sense of dread to the air. He remembered reading stories about Dementors and their effects on people. He dreaded meeting one and to this day, he thanked his lucky stars, how few there were, that Azkaban no longer used them. Part of the reforms sweeping through Wizarding Britain as a result of the down fall of a 'Dark Lord.'

The idea still tickled him silly. 'Dark Lord.' It was a rubbish of an idea, and mainly fueled by those in power who wished to control the masses. Whether or not the man was evil had nothing to do with him being 'Dark.' Still, politicians were known to be foolish creatures.

"How's it going Gil?" A rail of man asked from his position against the a stand left in the yard. Men were running about, some playing catch. Most were just milling about. The women were off to the side or interspersed with men.

Gil had to give the Wizarding World that. We may not treat women equal on the outside, but here, in Hell, we're all the same.

"Same old shit, different day," Gil said.

The wailing of a siren made every man and women freeze in their tracks. The sound echoed for a moment as the prison population, as if one puppet tied to a single string, turned to look at the incoming boat of people.

Gil walked calmly up to a row of bleachers, lined up against the stone walls. Several men, and two women, followed him. They were his friends. And better ones then the few he had outside off these walls.

Yes, he had allowed this place to define who he was. Because he became a better man here, then the world saw him as out there.

"Fresh fish." Gil looked over at Narcissa. She had been placed in her nearly two years before and adapted to holding sway with the women folk. She had been one of the few women that Gil knew not to whore herself out for protection. Whether other inmates or guards, she refused. She took shit for it, and more then once one attempted raped, but the Warden protected her for the most part. For whatever reason, he wasn't sure, but Gil figured it had to be good. Cis never said why she was here.

"Bets today?" Heywood stopped on the other side of Gil, leaning up against the well. Gil smirked, removing his small book and pencil from his jacket.

"Bear Catholic? Pope shit in the woods?" This got a few laughs. "Smokes or coin. Better's choice." The only silence came from them as the yard was filled with jeers and yells, directed toward the chained men coming from the boat.

"Smokes. I'll put two on that little bitch up front." Skeets said. Gil rolled his eyes, but marked it anyway. Skeets was known rapist, and the guards kept an eye on him. While he had not fucked up in recent years, more then once Gil had to get him off one of the girls.

"Horseshit, I'll get on that." Heywood said.

"I'd like to see you pick it then Heywood," Skeets said. Heywood surveyed the chain babies for a moment before turn to Gil.

"F-f-fatass, fifth from the back," Heywood stuttered. Gil had known Heywood since he entered Azkaban, and the man always had that stutter. Most of the time he had it under control, but sometimes, under stress it was a lot worse. "Quarter of a pack."

This went on for a few minutes as other men placed their bets. A couple of women set similar bets to their 'men' in hopes of gaining favor with them. It was a degrading practice, especially in here, but it honestly was the world's oldest profession.

The first time Gil laid eyes on Harry, he didn't think much about him. A stiff breeze could have knocked him over. Outside, he may have been an important guy. In here, he was nothing more than a bag of turds. Hell, even that he had to work toward. No, he wasn't much, on first impression.

"Who you got, Gil?" Gil looked back at the cons who surrounded him.

"Stiff on the end. Half a pack." Gil wrote down his bet.

"Mighty rich bet there Gil," Rockwood scoffed.

"Any takers?" Gil looked around. "Skeets?" The man nodded. "Rockwood? Cis?" She just gave him a smile and turned to walk away. He wrote down the bets as he watched the men enter the prison gates. Harry was the last one, and the look in the man's eyes told him that maybe he was wrong.

**I0I**

Harry felt the weight of the shackles pull him forward as he walked down the darkened hallway. The sense of foreboding had not lifted since he was sentenced. No one believed him, or if they did, they never spoke of it. He was not even able to see his best friends, trying to proclaim his innocence as least to them.

No, he was thrown in here without malice or aforethought. Commit a crime, sentenced to Azkaban. Wonderful.

His fellow inmates on the chain were shaking, and Harry could feel himself doing it for a bit as well. Falling back on his Occlumency training, the walk gave him enough time to gather his shields and at least seem to regain some control over himself.

A quick spell by one of the guards and the shackles fell to the floor. The echoes of the metal rattled settled before the guy Harry assumed ot be the head guard spoke.

"Eyes front!" The man yelled and immediately, all eyes turned to a door way and a silhouetted man that walked out of it.

The man had to be the Warden, from the difference in dress from the guards. The smart suit beneath a set of wizarding robes was enough for information for that conclusion. He was a colorless man, grey hair, grey suit, grey robes. His gaze settled on each of the prisoners appraising them with flinty eyes. Harry believed that if there was ever a man to piss ice water, this man was it.

"This is Mr. Dawlish, the captain of the guards." The Warden motioned toward the man who had spoke earlier. "My name is Mr. Fudge, the warden. I have only one rule: no blasphemy. You will not take the Lord's name in vain under my house. The rest," he looked at them, stopping on Harry for a moment before continuing, "you'll learn as you go along. Any questions?"

"When we going to eat?" Fudge looked at Dawlish once. Before Harry had time to even register it, Dawlish had shoved a nightstick into the man's gut.

"You'll eat when we say you EAT!" Spittle flew from the captain's mouth as the man moaned on the floor. "You'll piss when we say you'll piss and shit when we say you can shit." He kicked the man once more for good measure before taking another step back.

Dawlish took a step back, letting Fudge speak again. "Now, any more questions?" Harry could feel the fear running off of some of them. He knew it was in him as well, but the despair held deeper. He felt his shoulders sag a little more as he looked around the darkened room. Shadows covered Fudge as he spoke, given him an appropriate demonic look. "I believe in two things, discipline and the Bible. You'll receive both here.

"Put your faith in the Lord. Your ass belongs to me." He nodded toward Dawlish, walking out the door without a second glance at the men.

"Remove you clothes." There a second between the statement that counted for everyone's movement. "You waiting for an engraved invitation. I said, remove your fucking clothes." This time, Dawlish raised his nightstick again, as if to hit one of them. Immediately, everyone removed their clothing. Another threat was all it took for them to get them out of their underwear.

Harry caught a couple of the guys trying to look at the few females in the group. As if to try and catch a glimpse of the naked bodies. The darkness and despair surrounded him, and he found himself caring very little what others thought at the moment. His shields hid any emotion, letting his Vulcan side show, as Hermione called it.

The wave of despair at the thought of never seeing from her again was almost enough for his shields to falter. It was enough for him to miss the order from Dawlish, and a smack upside the head caused him to stubble.

"I said, stand in line and head out." Harry nodded, not rubbing his head. It would mean breaking, and the one thing Harry had never done, was break.

Not under the Durselys, not under Dumbledore's machinas, and certainly not under the stress of the trial.

The darkness may have been stronger, the despair weighing him down. But the blow to the head reminded him of who he was, and what had and had not done.

He followed them, finding his clothing taken from him before being shoved into a cage. "Step forward." Harry did, keeping his eyes downcast, but ears open for any information he could get. "Turn around." Following the command, Harry felt himself being blasted with cold water and told to spin.

"Step forward." Delousing powder was banished toward him, and Harry was barely able to close his eyes in time.

"Step to the line and bend over." Harry knew this was coming. In fact, he had prepared for it. He felt the glances off his shields, but they were nothing more that simply testing the waters. Behind a guard leaned over with a flashlight in his mouth.

Harry did his best not to cringe too much after seeing a guy nearly have his jaw broken from it.

"Take your set of clothes, sheets and a Bible and step in line." The bundle thrusted into his gut, and he was barely able to hold onto it before being pushed along. The powder stung and watered his eyes, but he managed to find the person in front of him.

They walked a naked mile, shuffling forward as the guards yelled jeers at them. Harry did his best to ignore the words, but he felt some of them hit close to him.

The trial was a high profile one, and even now, the guards were taunting him with the murders. His shields held, but he felt the pressure of the words weighing down on him, as much if not more so than the barrister who spoke at his trial.

He walked silently, trying to recall a time when he felt so alone in a room full of people.

**I0I**

Gil watched them from his cell as they were marched up by the guards. The women were probably the most scared, but were likely to respond less. That was why so few actually bet on them in his time here.

They march the new fish in naked as the day they were born. The first night is the toughest, and it is only made worse by the delousing shit burning their eyes. When those bars slam shut for the first time, and a prisoner realizes that their world has just gotten smaller, well... most of the boys and girls come close to madness the first night.

The cold slamming of the cell doors shook the rest of the prisoners. Most stayed on their beds, letting the guards leave before trying to fish. He did in the past, but watching the tall stiff, he began to wonder if something was different.

No, he would keep an eye on that one. As he might be more interesting vertical then dead.

"Lights out." The guard's voice echoed the hall and they fell into darkness.

It only took a few minutes for it to start.

"Here, fishy-fishy-fishy." The voices echoed the same words, calling over and over again to get the new prisoners to break first. Someone always does, the only question is, who is is going to be?

Seems as good as anything to bet on. Prison time is slow time and you do what you can to survive and stay sane. This was just one more thing to try and keep your marbles together.

"Hey, f-fa-fatass." Gil could heard Heywood talking to his fish, trying to break him first. The whimpers of the man reached Gil's ears. He let out a sigh and tried to relax. He knew that sleep would not come until this was over.

"Hey, fatass!" Heywood called to the boy louder. "Relax son. You'll fit right in here. You don't listen to em, ya hear. You okay boy, I can hear ya breathing. "

"Please, there was a mistake." He whimpered. It would not be enough for the others to call him broken, but Heywood wasn't over yet.

"Don't worry. Me and the boys, we'll take you around, pick you out a nice boyfriend for you. Know a couple of big ol' bull queers that would love to meet your acquaintance. Especially that big old mushy butt of yours. Make you feel right at home." Gil listened to the whimpering for a moment and just when he thought Heywood was going to start up again, the kid broke.

"Please. I'm not supposed to be here." His voice echoed loudly across the cellblock.

"And it's fatass by a nose." Heywood yelled. "Fresh fish, fresh fish!" That became the chant of the cellblock as they began to bang and rap their bars.

"I WANNA GO HOME! I WANT MY MOTHER!" The boys cries did nothing to stop the taunts. Gil knew that a normal person would feel bad, but being in person killed your heart a little, if only so you can deal with the Hell that it is.

"I had your mother, she wasn't that great." Laughter carried through the taunts as they grew louder.

"What is Christ's shit is going on?" Dawlish busted into the block, guards falling out behind him.

"He took the Lord's name in vain. I'm telling the Warden!" Gil couldn't tell who said it, but Hadley's reply was not unexpected.

"You can tell him with my baton up your ass." Dawlish motioned for the men to the crying boy's cell. Gil could picture Heywood trying to tell the kid to shut up, but the wails continued. "What's your malfunction, you fat fuckin' barrel of monkey piss!"

"Please, I'm not supposed to be here." The kid tried to plead with Hadley. Gil closed his eyes, knowing it was useless and knowing what was coming next. "I want to go home. Please, let me go home."

"I'm not gonna count to three. Fuck, I ain't countin' to one. You shut the fuck up before I sing you a fuckin' lullabye." The kid kept wailing, and Gil almost felt sorry for him. That part that would have died out of survival years ago. "That's it. Open it." Gil heard the guards open the gates. He watched as they dragged the kid by the fat of his neck to the center of the block.

Dawlish began to beat the kid like there was no tomorrow. The prisoners all grew silent as they watched Dawlish strike the boy. Even when he stopped whimpering and just lay there, Hadley still struck. Finally, after what seemed like forever, Dawlish stopped.

"If I so much as hear a mouse fart, by God and Sonny Jesus, you all will be spending the night in the infirmary. Every last motherfucker in here." His glare circled the block before he motioned for the guards to get the boy out of there. Not before he cleaned his baton on the kid's shirt.

Gil sat back onto his bed, trying not to think about what had happened. Even to a jagged old con like him, some things still managed to break through to the cold heart. As he lay down to sleep, he silently cursed the tall stiff who cost him two packs of cigarettes. He did not make a single sound.

**I0I**

Harry took the first step outside of his home away for home, and found the drama to be somewhat lacking. He had lucked out and been given a cell to himself, and next to the wall. That way, he would only have to hear indent things from one side.

And finding out that it was two women going at in the cell besides his made him reinforce his Occlumens shields. The presence of women at Azkaban was an unexpected truth that he wasn't ready to deal with yet.

He followed the line out, counted as he walked to make sure that he was still alive. He kept his head down, trying to not draw attention to himself. He wanted to be left alone, at least for a while, to get his head on straight.

It was a silent walk to the mess hall. There, the noise picked up as the prisoners collected what passed for food here and sat at the tables. Harry followed the line, picking up the dull cutlery and a tray as he walked.

Slop was dropped onto his tray, different varieties but the word explained the type of food he had been given. Knowing it would be futile to ask what it was, he followed the line away from the preparation area and found himself lost for the first time.

There was a space open at a table, near an end. He did not have any 'friends' here, and suspected that he probably would not for a while. Even out of protection, he did not believe he needed them.

He sat down, ready to begin the first example of a meal for the rest of his life. The wiggling of what might have been rice stopped him. He pulled out a very small maggot from the dish, staring at it. He wasn't even that horrified by it, really more surprised.

"You going to eat that?" Harry looked up to see an old man staring at him. A crooked finger pointed toward the maggot in his hand.

"Hadn't thought about," Harry said honestly.

"Do you mind?" The crooked finger motioned toward the maggot. Harry handed it over, wondering if the man was going to eat it.

He stared at the man as a withered hand opened his coat. He brought the maggot gently into the folds of the coat and Harry caught the sight of a beak before it disappeared.

"Jake says thank you." Harry nodded and turned back to the slop of lunch he was served.

"Here comes the smug bastard now." One of the guys said. Harry looked up from moving the mush around on his plate to see a small red head walking toward them. The sight of red hair was cause for pause.

The Weasleys had been through so much pain because of him. Especially Molly and Ron. Both had suffered through all of this. And more importantly, he felt the blame resting on him because of them. Their words were going to haunt him a long time, just as they had haunted him last night.

Harry shook his head, running away from the memories. The small redheaded man sat down at the table. "Mornin' boys, and what a fine mornin' it is." He caught a glance of the men putting down cigarettes, groaning as the man gloated over them. "that's right boys, put them all down, pretty as a chorus line." He leaned over and smelt them, as if trying to get the aroma from a flower.

"Smell my ass." One of them said, taking a bit out of the yellow glop. Harry was beginning to think it was meant to be eggs.

Trying it, he reassured himself that eggs definitely did not taste like that. Still, it was better then nothing.

"Real shame there Gil, terrible shame, your horse coming in last." The man let out a giggle as he piled the cigarettes and boxes up. "Hell, I sure do love that horse of mine. I believe I ole that boy a big old sloppy kiss when I see him next."

"How about giving him some of your cigarettes instead, Heywood?" Gil snarled back, taking a bite out of the little bit of bread they were given.

"Hey Tallis." A black man turned to look at the redhead. "You pull infirmary duty?" he nodded, staring back at Heywood. "And?"

"Dead." The table fell silent. "Brought him in last night, Doc already home for the night." He took a bite of the bread in his hand before continuing. "Dead when he got in this morning."

Harry broke the silence first, turning to look at the table of men. "What was his name?" The blank and almost angry looks on their faces told him it was a mistake to ask.

"Who gives a fuck what his name was?" Heywood nearly screamed. He remained seated, and Harry realized that none of the men were going to hold him back if he went. "He's dead." Harry gave him a blank stare before nodding.

So that was the way it was going to be. You lose yourself in this place, even before you have a chance to become a part of it. The man you were on the outside, means nothing here. He should have expected that. But seeing it unfold in front of him, this group of men, saddened at the death of a person they never met was striking.

Harry turned gaze back at his meal. His previous thought was not quite accurate. Their sadness could not have reflected the death of the man, but maybe...maybe it was a reflection of what could happen to them. What they probably thought was good old fashioned fun was taken too far, and played upon by some who would not tolerate. Now all that remained was guilt that they caused it, and sadness knowing that it could be them next time.

**I0I  
**  
His first few days was spent watching the people, trying to get a fix of what to expect, who he could not trust at all, and who to stay away from in the prison. One name popped up a few times, a name that could actually lead him to some help.

He walked across the yard, his lengthy legs carrying him with practiced ease. The man who owned the name was playing catch with another guy. They were the same group of men who tried to chastise him on his first day in the prison.

Harry moved so the man could see as he approached. It was not wise to get the drop on someone in here. It was something he learned the hard way over the years.

"I heard you're a man that knows how to get things," Harry removed his hands from his pockets, open palm offering the emptiness that he had.

The old man gave him a look, not quite a sneer, but not quite welcoming either. He caught the baseball from Heywood before throwing it back. "I've been known to get certain things from time to time."

Harry nodded, understanding that it was probably going to cost him, but he wanted some resemblance of normality. Before he had a chance to respond, Gil looked at him with appraising eyes.

"You're that banker that killed his wife, ain't you?" The question was said in such a way that Harry realized that the man was trying to get to know him, for whatever reason. Maybe a few friends in here may not be too bad to have.

"I'm innocent." Harry kept a straight face while saying this, but apparently it still was funny. Gil chuckled a bit as he threw the ball back to Heywood. "Something wrong?"

"Everyone in here is innocent, didn't you know that?" Gil gave him a smirk before turning back to Heywood. "Heywood, what you in here for?" The man just caught the ball thrown to him before throwing it back.

"Didn't do it." Heywood's voice was confident, a slight smirk crossing as he spoke, "Lawyer fucked me." Harry looked at the man, trying to cover the shock on his face.

"You best remember that in here," Gil smirked as he threw the ball back. He held up his hand toward Heywood, silently telling him to let him conduct business. "So what can I do for you, Mister Potter?"

If Harry was not in this prison, he would have thought the man was a kind old salesman, maybe even out of a bookstore or something. "I'd like to buy a rock hammer. Think you can get it?"

"What is it and why?" Harry raised an eyebrow at this. "If you were asking for a toothbrush or a pack of cigs, I wouldn't ask any questions. I'd give you a price. You asking for something that sounds like it could bash in a man's head; risk goes up."

"Fair enough." Harry looked around the yard before continuing. "Rock hammer is about eight to nine inches long, looks like a miniature pick axe. Used for shaping rocks."

"Rocks?" The confusion grew, and Harry held back a bit of a smile. This was a man that wasn't used to confusion, who was set in his ways. Harry crouched down, and began to pick at a few of the pebbles on the ground.

"Quartz, mica, a bit of slate." He shook them in his hand, the weight a slight comfort in the strange place. "There is probably some limestone, from the hills they carved this place out of, back in the day."

"What you going to use it for?"

"I was a bit of a rockhound, after school at least." He shrugged his shoulders as he looked at the rocks again. "I would like to be one again, one a limited scale."

"At least until you plate it in someone head." Harry looked up at Gil, not holding back the surprise, but he managed to keep his voice level.

"I don't have any enemies." Gil knelt besides him, his gaze falling momentarily on a group of men over Harry's shoulders.

"Seems like you have made friends with the Sisters." Harry glanced back, before staring at the rocks in his hands. "Especially Bogs. Seems they've taken a liking to you."

"Probably wouldn't help to tell them that I wasn't homosexual." There were animals trapped in here with him, and at least he was getting some advice the other members of this hell.

"Not in the slightest. You have to be human. They hardly qualify." Harry felt a sense of regret and remorse in his words, like he was speaking from experience. Keeping silent, he waited as Gil studied him for a moment before continuing. "Bull queers take by force. If I were you, I'd grow eyes in the back of my head."

"Thanks for the advice." Harry pushed himself off the ground, offering his hand to Gil. The older man smirked and stood on his own.

"Advice was free. This rock hammer, its going to cost you." Gil studied him for a moment, and Harry wondered if the man was going to be fair with the charge. "How much do they run for normally?"

"Three or four pounds." Harry shrugged, as he figured that even in prison, a pound would be more useful then a galleon.

"Muggle?"

"Yeah, that going to be a problem?" Gil thought for a moment, and Harry got the feeling of the man weighing a lie. The older man must have decided that he was trust worthy enough.

"See, I can get you anything. That ain't a lie. What its going to cost you on the other hand, is different."

"Don't take pounds?" Harry was not worried about the money, as he knew he had enough in galleons to cover it as well. Still this would be a good estimate of the prison's economics.

"I take the payments you go, preferable pounds actually. However, a muggle item is going to cost you more than normal. And my normal mark up rate is fifty percent." Harry nodded, figuring that he could afford that at least for now.

"Meaning?" Looking around for a moment, Harry felt some of the tension release itself.

"And what are you doing to do with it?" Gil crossed his arms. The man seemed to be trying to glare at him. "planning to escape or something?" Harry could not help the chuckle that escaped, which made the frown stumble on Gil's face. "What's so funny?"

"You'll see when you get it." He smiled lightly, and tried to ignore the disgusting stares that centered on his back. It was not something that was out of place, but he knew that the eyes in the back of his head needed to grow sharper, quicker.

Still, the advise was helpful, especially because he was told more than Gil probably meant. He now knew one of the factions in the pen, and likely was a valuable source of information in the future.

Only time would tell though, only time would tell.

**I0I**

Harry kept his head down and his ears open. It did not help though, and he probably had grown complacent, but he thought that after all of this, he had the right to relax. He learned rather quickly though, that prison was not the place to do so, not unless you had leverage.

His shields had grown lax, and he was paying for the price right now.

"Come on baby." Harry swung the mop in the direction of the voice, knowing that his magic would be no help, especially since the walls had been lined with dampening runes. "We just want to play."

He was able to hold back on his emotions, on his fear, just enough to not feed them. They wanted his fear, and that was one thing that he would not give them. Even if they took what was left of his dignity.

**I0I**

Those first few years, were the worst for Harry. The sisters kept at him, attacking him and degrading him. Sometimes he fought back, and won. Sometimes, he fought back and didn't. He would show up from time to time with new and fading bruises. I think, that if it kept up like that, Harry would not have lasted much longer. The laundry room would kill him.

I managed to get him his rock hammer, and just like he said, nearly busted out in laughter. If someone wanted to try and tunnel their way out of there, it would have taken nearly 300 years to escape. The hammer seemed to give Harry a little solace in life, a little chance at peace. It was something he seemed to need with all the hell going on, both against his body and against his soul.

If fate had not smiled down upon the man, I do not think he would have lasted the year. But that May, the Warden decided that the roof needed fixing. A new tar coat. While they could have just magicked it out and onto the roof, the materials would cost him an arm and a leg to procure and charm. Instead, the Warden decided that he would 'reward' us for good behavior, and allow seven of us the opportunity to enjoy the May sun.

Wouldn't you know it, but me and some guys I know where among the names chosen by the guards. It only cost each man six packs of smokes, of course I got my ten percent. But in the end, it was worth it.

Like I said, if Harry remained stuck in that laundry room, he would have died. I would not be here to tell you this story. But he didn't. And I am.


End file.
